


It's December, My Dear

by gloriouscacophony (KatrinaKay)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bath Sex, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Holiday Fic Exchange, Ice Skating, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Underwater Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21662728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatrinaKay/pseuds/gloriouscacophony
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley celebrate their first Christmas after the Apocalypse-that-wasn't. Crowley hates the cold, but Aziraphale helps him stay warm and find joy in the season.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20
Collections: Oh Come All Ye Sinful! A Depraved Holiday Exchange 2019





	It's December, My Dear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waterofthemoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/gifts).



_Outside it's coming down  
_ _But here inside, it's warming up so  
_ _And when you take your time  
_ _You turn me on and make my life glow_

_— “Glittery”, Kacey Musgraves  
  
  
  
_

“Arrrgh, blasted snow! Whose idea was it, exactly, to make English winters ssso cold?!” Crowley blustered his way into the bookshop, slamming the door behind him in a fit of pique.

Aziraphale looked up from his desk and snorted rather unangelically. Crowley was steaming, melting the piles of snow from his head and shoulders—far more snow than was falling from the sky—as his glasses fogged with moisture until the demon ripped them off and chucked them to some corner of the shop.

“Crowley, did you fall in a snowbank?” His mouth quivered in mirth, but Crowley was dripping melted snow everywhere. He set aside his teasing to fetch a towel from the kitchen after pinning Crowley to the spot with a serious stare that brooked no argument. (They’d been trying to lay low after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, so miracles for minor inconveniences were right out for the time being. That meant fetching towels themselves, and preventing any miracle steam-drying of books.)

“Nah- ngk- weh- no, I did _not_! Blasted door slammed, dumped all this dam- bless- _stupid_ sssnow all over me!” Crowley called.

Aziraphale tutted at him as he returned and began sopping the rest of the frigid water from Crowley’s hair, face, and shoulders. “Now, now, I’m sure it was just an accident. A rather unfortunate one, but —” He cut off Crowley’s complaints with a gentle press of his mouth to the demon’s, and Crowley froze with a muffled _mrph_.

“Not fair,” the demon protested against Aziraphale’s mouth, but he didn’t break the kiss. On the contrary, he wrapped his arms around the angel, pulling him flush and licking into Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale indulged him for a moment, then pulled away with an embarrassed yet pleased smile.

“Now, now, let me finish, you wily tempter you.” He ruffled the towel through Crowley’s hair, fluffing it into damp spikes that stuck out in all directions. “There, I think I caught most of the drips. Why don’t you go upstairs and change into something dry, and I’ll get a nice fire started, hmm?”

Crowley shivered happily at the thought and shucked off his coat and shoes, handing them to Aziraphale before slinking up the stairs to the bedroom Aziraphale had added for him.

They each had their own room, decorated as suited their vastly different aesthetic styles. Aziraphale hadn’t been in Crowley’s room much but had caught glimpses of it in passing: blood red bedding on a blackened metal wrought iron frame, silky smoke-grey fleur-du-lis wallpaper, and dozens of plants on stands and the windowsill, framed by black curtains. (It was what the youths would call “goth”, Aziraphale thought.) His own room, in contrast, contained an ornate, indulgently comfortable four-poster bed that he mostly used as another reading chair. He’d also added a plush carpet that felt heavenly on his bare feet, and an antique wardrobe that held his collection of bow ties, waistcoats, and other clothing.

(Aziraphale would never admit it, but sometimes while he was up at night—he still hadn’t gotten entirely comfortable with the idea of falling unconscious for hours at a time—he would pad softly down the hallway to make a cuppa and hear quiet, nasally snores from Crowley’s room that made his body’s heart clench with contentment.)

By the time Crowley returned, Aziraphale had the beginnings of a roaring fire going and had set milk to boil on the stove. The demon slunk into the kitchen and perched precariously on a stool, his black silk pajamas making him slip a bit.

“Grab the marshmallows, would you, my dear?” Aziraphale called over his shoulder as he stirred the milk. “They’re in the tin on the shelf, just there.”

A thin hand plopped the tin down next to the stove, and Crowley crowded against Aziraphale’s back, hugging the angel to his chest. “‘S not fair, angel. You’re always so warm.”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale hummed, a faint blush on his cheeks at the contact. “Cocoa’s almost ready, if you want to go warm up.”

The demon pecked a kiss to Aziraphale’s neck, just below his ear, and disappeared. Aziraphale rolled his eyes and turned off the stove. A dash of cocoa, sugar, and milk, topped with a healthy handful of marshmallows, and the drinks were ready.

In the living room, Crowley was lying as close to the fireplace as possible, curved toward the flames in a sinuous coil that his human body somehow accommodated.

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale admonished as he set down the demon’s cocoa at the table next to their armchairs, “You know, you’re going to singe your eyebrows off one day, and I’m not going to miracle them back for you.”

“Will not. I can’t _singe_ anything, angel. I’m a _demon_.” But the scent of cocoa pulled Crowley back to his chair and he took a gulp of the scalding beverage as if to prove his point.

“I’m not sure what we are anymore,” Aziraphale replied, sipping his cocoa far more cautiously. “You know, this will be the first year since...well, since the birth, I suppose, that I won’t be invited to join any of the Host’s celebrations. Oh my. I...I hadn’t really thought about it. Well, that’s…” He frowned down at his mug, then looked up at Crowley, his lip quivering ever so slightly as he seemed moments from tears.

“Hey, hey, angel, it’s all right, c’mere…” Crowley took the cocoa from Aziraphale and set it aside before climbing right into the angel’s lap. The tears stung his chest a bit as Aziraphale buried his head against it, but Crowley wrapped his arms tight and held on.

“No more of that, hmm? We’re still here, aren’t we?” he said as Aziraphale finally pulled away with a wet sniffle. “Just ‘cause you can’t celebrate Chris—hurk, grpmh, _Yule_ with those uptight, self-righteous pigeons this year, doesn’t mean...well, _we_ can’t.”

“What?” Aziraphale replied helpfully, reaching under Crowley’s arm and into his pocket for his handkerchief. Then his brain seemed to process the demon’s words a few moments later, and he blinked, gaping.

“You mean, do Christmas here? The tree and the presents and everything? You would do that for me?”

“Well, you might need to handle some of the more, er, arcane artifacts, but sure. Why not. Since Jerusalem’s out of the option this year, let’s decorate the bookshop.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, with a fond look that made the demon’s heart swell. “You really are too good to me.”

“‘M not good,” he grumbled in reply, but Aziraphale had already pulled him in again for more warm, damp kisses, and he was thoroughly distracted.  
  


* * *

  
“No, no, NO. Absolutely not. I did _not_ agree to this. ‘M not doing it.”

“But you said everything on my list was fine! I showed it to you last week!”

Crowley scoffed. “Yeah, well, I just skimmed it, all right? I didn’t expect... _this_.”

Aziraphale had given Crowley directions, and they’d spent an hour in the car, listening to some of the more benign Christmas carols. (It seemed the Bentley had grown a bit sick of Queen, as it now let them listen to other music occasionally.) But when they’d arrived, and Crowley had jerked the car into park, he’d spotted the large sign and the ice rink and refused to get out.

“Fine,” Aziraphale said curtly. “You can wait here. _I’m_ going to skate, by myself if I have to.”

“But it’sss cold as a witch’s—” Crowley started, but Aziraphale had already gotten out and closed the door.

He stayed in the cocoon of the car’s warmth and watched the angel pay for a pair of skates, lace them up fastidiously, and hobble to the ice. Aziraphale gripped the edge of the rink, slowly making his way around the ice as children and couples whizzed by.

The second time he falls out of sight, Crowley is out of the Bentley in a flash, rushing into a pair of skates with a minor miracle and onto the ice. Luckily, Aziraphale had fallen near the entrance and had managed to haul himself upright again, clinging to the wall tightly, eyes wide in terror.

“How’re you doing, then?” Crowley said in a fakely nonchalant tone. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Dear, if you don’t give me a hand, I swear I’ll…do something you don’t like.”

“Oh?” Crowley said, placing one gloved hand over the angel’s to intertwine their fingers. “Well, we’re already doing something I don’t like. C’mon, I didn’t get all bundled up and venture out onto this wretched glacier for my health.”

Slowly, he shifted to the inside of the rink, leaving Aziraphale to grip his hand and the edge, and they began to move, shuffling one foot and then the other until they’re no longer simply walking on the ice but gliding a bit.

“Not too fast, not too fast!” Aziraphale cried out, but then Crowley had pulled him away from the wall, and they were actually doing something that humans would recognize as ice skating.

“Hey, watch it there!” Crowley bellowed at a small boy who whizzed past them, making the angel and demon teeter on their skates. But they managed to regain their balance and by the time the sun is setting and the rink lights have switched on, they’ve stayed on their feet more than they’ve fallen, and their cheeks are pink with cold above their scarves.

“My dear, you look positively frozen!” Aziraphale said as they clomped off the ice for the sweeper to clean its surface of shavings. “I’ve had a wonderful time, but let’s go home, hmmm?”

If he’d been able to say it, that was when Crowley would have uttered “ _Bless you”_ to the angel. He staggered over to a bench and began untying his skates, but Aziraphale pushed his hands away and made quick work of the laces.

“‘M so cold, angel, my fingers…”

“I know, I know, let’s get you to the car.” Aziraphale handed in their skates, then led Crowley back to the Bentley. They sat inside as the heater roared and the windows fogged. Aziraphale peeled off Crowley’s gloves and began rubbing the demon’s hands in his own, blowing warm air on them as he worked.

“You should have said something!” Aziraphale scolded, moving Crowley’s hands to the heater as his own rubbed the frigid tips of the demon’s ears.

“Nah, ‘s fine. I’ll thaw out. Besides, that was fun. More fun than I thought it was going to be.” He pulled Aziraphale in to lean against him and kissed him, savoring the warm gasp of breath from the angel’s mouth. His tongue licked deeper, searching out more of that heat.

Aziraphale responded in kind, gripping Crowley’s scarf and tangling a hand in his short hair as his tongue met Crowley’s in a slide that made the demon’s teeth ache with wanting. Soon, Aziraphale was lying flush over Crowley, who was pressed against the door, and the fog on the windows was from more than the heater. The demon squirmed, tight trousers even tighter now that they had to accommodate what was a surprisingly robust erection given that all they’d been doing was kissing, albeit in an entirely filthy way that no angel should know how to do.

In response, Aziraphale shifted his own weight, and gave a sharp inhale when his own erection lined up with Crowley’s, the sensation dulled by layers of heavy clothing but unmistakable nonetheless.

“We, w-we should go home, yes?” Aziraphale managed to pant out.

“Absolutely, home, yes,” Crowley garbled out in response.

When they’d survived the car ride home without having to pull over and take care of things, Aziraphale paused just inside the door, making Crowley want to groan in aroused impatience.

“Would you...I know you don’t normally like to...we could...take a bath? It might help warm you up.”

“Oh, I think you’ve already done an excellent job of that, angel.” Almost as fast as a miracle, Crowley had discarded his down jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves and was leaning in for more kisses. Aziraphale allowed him, until his hands (now free of their gloves) slipped inside the demon’s shirt and felt the chill of his skin.

“Bath. Now. No more arguments. You’re going to freeze to death,” Aziraphale says, his tone and the glint in his eye daring Crowley to complain. “Upstairs.”

“Fiiine,” Crowley sighed, and followed him up to the bathroom. He’d never used it, but knew Aziraphale was fond of soaking with a good book and a glass of wine on occasion.

With a snap of the angel’s fingers (but he wasn’t going to argue about the miracle, he was _freezing_ ), the large marble tub had expanded to something like a small swimming pool, and steaming hot water began pouring out of the tap to fill it. Aziraphale rummaged through the cupboard under the sink, then pulled out a bottle decorated with a Christmas tree and dumped most of its contents into the tub. Frothy bubbles formed on the water, and the scent of pine and cloves drifted to Crowley’s nose.

“Shall we?” Aziraphale asked, looking up from the tub to meet Crowley’s eye with a bit of what looked like fear.

This was still so new to them. Being naked, for one thing, but especially being naked in front of another being—another being they were each quite attracted to. They’d both been cautious in their first touches and caresses and explorations, and had settled into something comfortable but still hesitant. Far more experienced with the pleasures of the flesh (at least, the romantic ones, as Aziraphale seemed to have cornered the market on rich food and expensive alcohol), Crowley had reassured the angel that all couples took some time to get used to one another.

“Need a hand?” Crowley asked, and stepped in to undo Aziraphale’s bow tie. The angel watched as Crowley divested him of his shirt, careful with the pearl buttons, then his undershirt. His hand hesitated on the angel’s belt, but Aziraphale nodded in encouragement, and he continued until Aziraphale was bare before him. The sight practically made his mouth water, but Aziraphale had begun tugging off Crowley’s own clothes, so he waited patiently until he was also naked.

He let out a groan of contentment as he slid into the water, his fingers and toes prickling as they began to thaw out. “Ahhh, now that’s bliss.”

Aziraphale dipped a toe in cautiously, then slowly sank into the bath across from him with a contented hum. “Oh, my. Mmm.”

Bubbles piled nearly up to their chins, they sat and savored the heat, eyes sliding closed and feet occasionally brushing as they relaxed.

When Aziraphale blinked his eyes open, he was startled to see Crowley only inches away and flailed, splashing water and bubbles over the edge of the tub.

“Ssssorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the demon murmured, his forked tongue flicking out on the sibilant. He flowed closer, until he was close enough to let his tongue explore the damp skin behind Aziraphale’s ear and down his neck.

The angel leaned back, tilting his head to expose more skin to Crowley’s ministrations. His fingers came up to stroke through the demon’s hair, petting gently through the strands.

“I miss your long hair sometimes, you know,” he said softly, and Crowley hummed against his pulse but continued until they were both flushed and Aziraphale was panting ever so slightly through parted lips.

Crowley leaned back with a satisfied smirk, then shook his head. Long, wavy locks rippled down to his shoulders. “Could do with a wash, if you want. Your scratches are always nice.”

“They do put you right to sleep, don’t they?” Aziraphale leaning out of the tub to rifle through the cabinet for a bottle of shampoo.

Crowley closed his eyes and let Aziraphale work for a moment before replying. “Oh, I don’t plan on sleeping just now.” Confused, Aziraphale’s hands stopped working the lather until he felt something brush against his half-hard erection.

“Oh!” His eyes fluttered shut, soap-covered hands hanging just above the water, as he felt Crowley’s long, thin fingers caress him again, teasing him to full hardness. “I—”

Opening his eyes, he leaned forward, but Crowley just gave him a devilish grin and used his free hand to put Aziraphale’s hand back on his head. “Wash, please. Back in a moment.”

“Where— _oh!”_ Crowley’s face disappeared below the surface of the water, leaving Aziraphale’s hands tangled in his hair...and then his mouth wrapped around Aziraphale’s cock.

As his mouth (This visual is amazing!!! I want someone to do fanart of it!)and that tongue worked, sliding and lapping and tasting, Aziraphale tried his best to massage the shampoo into Crowley’s hair as if nothing at all untoward was happening just below the water. He soon gave up, instead tangling his soapy fingers in Crowley’s long locks and giving them a not-ungentle yank as the demon did something particularly clever with his tongue.

“O-oh, I—” Aziraphale stuttered, then realized that Crowley probably couldn’t hear him. So he let himself babble as Crowley’s mouth and hands sped up, sliding along his shaft at a rapid pace that was bringing him closer to the edge. “Your wonderful mouth, Crowley, you wicked thing, I’m getting ever so _close_ , j-just like that, my dear…”

Then, oh _then_ , bliss flooded through him as he arched his hips and gripped Crowley’s hair and came into the tight, wet heat of Crowley’s mouth.

After he’d wrung the last drop of pleasure from Aziraphale, Crowley emerged from the water like a siren, all wet, tangled strands and reddened lips and smug look in his serpentine eyes, the slitted pupils almost round with want.

“How was that, angel?” he murmured as he slid up Aziraphale’s body to press gentle kisses to Aziraphale’s mouth, coaxing him into relaxation.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale replied, mind still hazy after his exquisite orgasm. “You really are _far_ too tempting, my dear. I hope I didn’t pull too hard.” He lazily stroked Crowley’s hair, sliding his fingers to cup Crowley’s cheek in his hand.

“Not at all. Like it when you show me who’s boss.”

“Well, then,” Aziraphale said, blinking his eyes until he gave Crowley a wicked grin of his own. “I suppose I’d better return the favor.”  
  


* * *

  
There were no chestnuts roasting by the fire, because Crowley thought they tasted disgusting, but stockings they’d decorated themselves were hung by the chimney with care. Firelight glinted off the tinsel and glass ornaments dotting the tree, and the shining bows adorning a small pile of presents beneath.

“Y’know, technically it’s Chri-hurgh, ah, _the appropriate day_ ,” Crowley said, leaning up off the thick blanket they lay sprawled on by the fire, surrounded by the remains of iced cookies and half-empty glasses of spiked eggnog. “We could open presentsss now.” He carded a hand through the long waves of hair he’d decided to keep for a bit.

Aziraphale yawned and stretched in the glow of the fire and pre-dawn light. “Let me put the kettle on first.”

A few minutes later, they were seated by the tree, mugs of cinnamon tea nearby. They studied the pile of wrapped gifts until Crowley lunged forward to grab one, then pressed it into Aziraphale’s hands.

“Here, you first.” The package was wrapped in exquisite paper (a small-batch artist’s print by the smell of it, to Aziraphale’s expert nose, used to identifying the age of the various inks and papers used in his books) and topped with a massive, frilly bow, all held together with what looked like several rolls of tape. He gave the box a tiny shake, but nothing rattled or slid within. Regardless of the contents, though, Aziraphale already treasured whatever the box in his hands held.

Crowley watched closely as he carefully undid the ribbon and paper, practically vibrating with excitement. Aziraphale opened the box slowly, then gasped and looked up at the demon, eyes already misty and his mouth forming a fond, beaming smile.

“Oh, Crowley, these are for me?” The ice skates were old-fashioned, the boot made of a rich dark leather and crisscrossed with sturdy laces. “They’re beautiful!” Still holding the box, he leaned forward to give Crowley a deep kiss.

It wasn’t until they’d finished opening the rest of their presents—a handknit scarf and an astonishingly expensive bottle of scotch for Crowley, and a tailored waistcoat and tin of tea for Aziraphale—that Crowley brought out another surprise: his own matching pair of skates. “Happy holidays, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my beta reader, [@reggieb1988](http://reggieb1988.tumblr.com/), for reviewing this fic ♥️


End file.
